I’ve spent my share of long nights balancing my head on the edge of a hard vinyl hospital “lounge.” Trying to sleep beside the bed of a sick child, with the constant interruption of obnoxious machines, the distant chatter of nurses echoing down the hall, and the incessant gaze of florescent lights is anything but restful.

I’ve seen needles probe for tiny veins, wide gashes sewn closed, and lethargic children attached to monitors, but never had I seen the look of sheer terror in the eyes of a newborn — until Zachary was handed to me by his weary, hospital-worn mother.